


This House Doesn't Burn Down Slowly

by one_flying_ace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_flying_ace/pseuds/one_flying_ace
Summary: “We’re here for a week,” Draco said, already starting up the wide staircase. “Let’s not make this into something it isn’t.”In which Draco and Harry both inherit a house.





	

The fireplace was one of seventeen in the great Ministry hall, unmarked and unnamed as far as Harry could see. Most were still under repair, but several were up and running; he stepped in and kept tight hold of his broom and rucksack, clearing his throat. The solicitor’s letter and Shacklebolt’s approval for a leave of absence were tucked into the pocket of his coat, and the Ministry hall vanished in a flurry of Floo powder. 

There were two transfers; at each he showed his Ministry badge and was waved through, until he emerged out of a last fireplace into a small, neat office. A clerk rose from behind a desk. “Mister Potter?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, reaching into his robes. “I have this-”

The clerk took took the letter he held out and nodded, tucking it away into her robes; “is that all you’ll be bringing with you,” she asked, with a glance at the rucksack. 

“Er,” Harry said, and that seemed to be enough, because she nodded again. 

“This will lead you to the property,” she said, handing over a small locater beacon. “Just fasten it to your broom and once you’re in the air it’ll activate.”

It clipped tightly onto the handle, a small brass globe that Harry supposed he’d have to trust. “Will Draco be- I mean, will he be flying as well?”

The clerk smiled patiently, waiting by the door. “Mister Malfoy has made other arrangements.”

He had to be content with that; she led him up to the roof, where a series of gargoyles looked him over without much interest. Harry settled the rucksack comfortably into place, swung a leg over his broom, and kicked off. The beacon came alive with a  _ whirring _ noise, spinning rapidly until it settled, a vivid green spot leading him north and slightly west. 

^^

The house was about what Harry had expected, from the outside; a central building with two small wings either side, windows shuttered and stonework water-stained. The forest loomed in over it, and the driveway wasn’t much more than a track, stuttering out into a swathe of moss-covered gravel in front of the house itself. Once it might’ve been charming, or at least imposing, but in the overcast afternoon it had a grim air of neglect about it.

A worn stone sign near the end of the drive simply read,  _ The Lodge _ . 

The locator beacon fixed to his broom handle winked out as he landed, going dull. Harry stretched, looking round. Draco waited at the point where the track curved round in front of the house, dressed formally and sat stiffly on a small trunk, no sign of how he’d reached the house visible. He stood when Harry saw him.

“Potter,” he said, as Harry drew close. “Do you have the key?”

“Nice to see you too, Malfoy.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the key that had arrived with the solicitor’s letter, a solid thing of wrought metal with several faceted dark stones set into it, holding it out in the palm of his hand.

Draco looked at it in distaste, as if he expected it to leap up and bite him. He reached down and picked up a key the duplicate of Harry’s from where it lay on his trunk, and headed towards the double front doors, the trunk itself floating after him. “Let’s get this week over with.” 

“This wasn’t my idea,” Harry pointed out, because they didn’t legally have a choice, but it wasn’t like he’d had anything better to do. He grabbed his rucksack and followed.

Chains wrapped around the house as far as Harry could see, flickering in and out of view; wards, removed only with the two keys they held and the passwords they’d both been sent by the solicitor’s office. He made his way up the short flight of worn stairs, Draco next to him. 

Together they slid the keys into the double lock, and turned. Harry spoke his Latin carefully, tongue stumbling over the syllables despite the practicing he’d done on the flight over. Draco said his with far more ease; the chains shivered and vanished, the door swinging open with a gentle creak. 

“Merlin’s beard it’s ghastly,” Draco said, staring round. 

They moved forward as one, stepping into a largish hall panelled in dark wood. A peaked skylight let in the afternoon sun, somewhat dulled by the grime and moss stuck to the glass, and several faded rugs lay on a black and white tiled floor. It looked how the solicitor’s letter had described it;  _ an old and somewhat forgotten property, with a complicated legal situation. _

Draco moved forward, trunk floating on ahead of him, up towards the second floor. His spotless tailored clothes and elegant robes were completely out of place; when Harry looked down, his trainers had left damp scuff marks in a thick layer of dust. 

“Hadn’t we better talk about things?” he asked Draco’s back. 

“We’re here for a week,” Draco said, already starting up the wide staircase. “Let’s not make this into something it isn’t.”

^^

Twenty minutes later his rucksack lay by the door of the bedroom Harry had chosen, its contents put tidily away in drawers. He didn’t have much, even with the new clothes Molly’d persuaded him into buying; the room looked exactly the same once he’d unpacked, only his toiletries in the small bathroom proof it now had an inhabitant. 

It looked, he thought dismally, a lot like the room he was using at Grimmauld Place. Old fashioned furniture, faded linens on the bed, and a heavily patterned carpet, all of it shabby; at least the view was better, forest and rising hills instead of a grey London street.

Exploring felt like too much, when Harry went into the hallway. He was stiff from flying, the cool autumn air and the chill in the house seeping through his old coat and worn jeans. There was no sign of Draco when he went slowly along the hall and down the stairs, watched by a few sleepy portraits.

He found a small sitting room at the front of the house, with a sagging sofa and a small fireplace. Harry lit a fire and sat down, the sofa not as uncomfortable as it looked; he had a book, pressed into his hand by Hermione when he’d left her office that morning after handing his caseload over. 

It was quiet, and lonely, but no more so than he was used to. 

^^

Draco avoided him for the rest of the day, and most of the following one too. Dinner appeared in the dining room, the scent of food drawing him in. He slept fitfully in the hard bed, too used to the nighttime noises of Grimmauld Place to sleep peacefully. In the morning he went downstairs in the cold dawn light and found breakfast spread out, still no sign of Draco. 

Harry ate in silence so absolute he could’ve heard a feather fall, spent the morning going over the contents of his in-tray that he’d brought with him; case reports, mostly, paperwork he needed to catch up on for various records. Some letters he’d meant to reply to, Ministry memos he never seemed to find the time to read. 

The silence weighed down on him, as dulling as that in Grimmauld Place, except here he didn’t have the Ministry to escape to, or London to wander in until his aching feet made him apparate back to his own front door. Eventually the writing started to dance in front of his eyes and he abandoned it, ate two of the sandwiches that had appeared in a lunch spread and poked around in a few more rooms, finding a spotless kitchen and many more bedrooms, all filled with dust sheets. Nothing that made him want to fight for the house, if it came to it. 

Eventually Harry went up to his bedroom and stretched out on the bed; the restless night and stultifying atmosphere caught up with him, and he napped.

It was early evening when he woke, the room dim and shadowed. Harry stood and stretched, looking out of the window and noting that the clouds had cleared. 

A step in the hall pulled Harry away from thoughts about spending the rest of the week flying; he turned to see Draco stood in the doorway, heavy outer robe discarded. Even in a casual knee-length robe and soft shoes he still looked more of a wizard than Harry thought he ever could; he looked like the kind of person to own a wizarding house, at least. Harry knew he looked like a muggle who’d got lost.

“Is this all you brought?” Draco asked, as the silence stretched into something uncomfortable. He nudged the empty rucksack with a toe. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying not to think about the fact that most of what he’d left at Grimmauld Place was school stuff, and the odd book. Everything useful he owned, more or less, fit into one bag, without any expansion charms. Even the paperwork had fitted, shoved down and bent to fit. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Draco turned away with another glance around the room. Harry nodded, waiting for Draco to vanish down the hallway before blowing out a hard breath.

When it’d become clear that, legally, he was required to spend some time living in the same house with Draco, he’d told himself it was a chance to lay more ghosts to rest. So far all it seemed to be doing was providing more locations for them to hate each other. 

Down the hallway the door to another room now stood half open, and Harry paused to glance inside, feeling faintly guilty when he realised Draco had chosen it for his own. Although much the same size as his own, and equally full of heavy dark furniture, it had touches that made it look lived-in; an elaborately embroidered quilt lay neatly over the bed, and a book lay on the bedside table, a ribbon tucked inside to save Draco’s place. 

“Food’s going cold,” Draco said quietly behind him. When Harry turned, embarrassed, he tilted his head towards the stairs, expression neutral. He led the way down into the small dining room, the table laid with two settings this time; the windows were still shuttered, but the candelabras were lit again, and the silverware gleamed.

“House elves?” Harry asked, glancing round. He hadn’t thought about the food at breakfast, or lunch, but it had to have come from somewhere.

“In a manner of speaking,” Draco said, taking a seat. He gestured towards an opened letter on familiar letterhead, leaning against one of the candelabras. “Organised by the solicitors, and sent over for us. We’re to manage on our own after tonight.” 

A tureen floated gently over from the sideboard, and a ladle served them both steaming hot soup; napkins fluttered onto their laps, and Harry accepted a bread roll from a plate that hovered by his elbow. They were quiet as they ate their way through vegetable soup, roast lamb, and a pastry tart filled with a fruit Harry didn’t recognise. 

“Selverberries,” Draco said, fork poised over his own tart. “Grown by the merfolk, and delicious with lemon sauce.” He nudged a slender jug towards Harry, which lifted itself up when he nodded and trickled a delicate ribbon of sauce over the plate. 

“Thanks,” he said, after the first bite; Draco ducked his head and started on his own dessert. 

“You were right,” he said, after several bites; he sounded like the admission pained him, and Harry fought the slightly hysterical urge to laugh. “We do need to talk.” 

“Might make things easier,” Harry said, swallowing. Was that what Draco had been doing all day, and yesterday too, thinking? “And it’s only for a week.”

Draco nodded brusquely. “I was thinking, we should go through the rooms, see what’s here. If there’s anything we want.” 

“If they’re anything like the ones I’ve seen, you can have it now and be done with it.” Harry said honestly, wondering if Draco had explored at all. He’d seen no signs of it. Draco’s mouth twitched. 

“We’ll see,” was all he said. 

They finished their meal in silence, and separated again. Harry lay in bed, wondering what the hell was going on, until he at last fell asleep.

^^

The second morning brought more dust, chilly tiles in Harry’s bathroom, and cobwebs. They met in the kitchen, Harry stumbling downstairs to find Draco coaxing an old tea set out of the cupboards and onto the table. The cups clattered clumsily, as though just woken as well, and Harry watched, entranced. 

“How do you do that,” he asked, still half asleep. Draco turned, wearing smart pajamas and a grey silk dressing gown; Harry took a step back and came up against a dresser filled with cracked and faded crockery, surprised by how casual he looked. His own pajamas had been Dudley’s, now worn and frayed at the hem, his top a  _ Chudley Cannons _ t-shirt filched from Ron’s drawer one summer. 

“Do what,” Draco said, carelessly moving out of the way of a whistling kettle as it flew over to fill up the teapot. He waved a hand, a plate of scrambled eggs and toast hovering invitingly by his hip. “There are things in the cupboards for breakfast.”

“How do you make the kettle and the tea things do that, without a spell.” 

“They’re  _ wizarding objects _ ,” Draco said slowly, after a beat of silence, as if he were speaking to a child. “You will them to do what you want, and they do.”

“I don’t know how,” Harry said, flushing under Draco’s sudden stare. He suddenly felt a lot more awake. The Weasley’s house was full of things that did their jobs under their own power; why he’d thought to ask about it now, and from Malfoy of all people, was beyond him. 

“Potter,  _ children _ know how to do this, it’s using one of the simplest charms-”

“I grew up with Muggles,” Harry reminded him, nettled. “They locked me in a cupboard and starved me every time I did something that could even remotely be called magic.”

Draco blinked.

Harry sighed. “Forget it.” He opened a cupboard at random and found bread; another one opened to reveal a small fridge, with bacon and eggs. He pulled all three out and headed towards the hob, looking for a frying pan. 

“Wait,” Draco said, moving away from the table. “Here, let me show you.” He took the food from Harry and set it down, reminding Harry of Molly for one ludicrous second. “Pay attention, magic like this needs focus.”

It took the best part of an hour, but by the end of it Harry had learnt how to call a teacup to him with a crook of his finger, and had a decent, if slightly overdone, bacon sandwich, cooked in its entirety without him touching a thing. 

It was nothing like he’d learnt at school, or at the Weasley’s; school had been strict spells and memorising, while anything he’d learnt at the Burrow was slapdash, picked up when they needed an extra pair of hands. Draco slid through the magic, absolutely sure that when he raised a hand the bread would stop toasting itself gently in front of the fire and settle onto his plate. 

Harry had never expected anything to work for him, so it took a while before he got the knack. They sat at the kitchen table and ate in silence, Harry too bemused to make conversation. Apparently Draco had taken the whole  _ needing to talk _ thing to heart. 

“Set those to washing, would you,” Draco said, pushing his chair back. “I think we’d better start sorting through the junk. I’ll meet you in the hall.”

It took a few tries, but eventually their dirty breakfast things were tumbling over themselves in soapy water. Harry had the fleeting notion that Draco had paused on the stairs to watch the plates fly towards the sink, but when he turned, there was no one.

^^

Harry had glanced into most rooms on the ground floor already, and they weren’t any more appealing the second time around. There were several parlours, a games room with a snooker table something had eaten most of the felt off, and a library, which Draco curled a lip at. The shelves stood covered in dust sheets and the room itself had clearly seen better days; they pulled down a few of the sheets, the books underneath faded.

“Nothing of value,” Draco said, pulling one off the shelf and flipping through it. “Novels, mostly, some books for children. Lots of ridiculous romances, where the mediocre witch turns out to have special powers and marries the rich wizard after all.” He gestured towards a shelf filled entirely with books bound in the same lurid purple colour. Flowers bloomed across them, glittery even in the dim light. 

“Speaking from experience?” 

Draco snorted. “Pansy and Daphne were always reading them.” He replaced the book, looking pensive as he flicked his wand to send the dust sheets flying back up to drape over the shelves. “Don’t suppose they do any more.”

They carried on, finding a small conservatory filled with brown ferns, and lastly a study, tucked away behind the stairs, filled with heavy old ledgers and boxes.

“This could be promising,” Draco said, standing in the doorway. Harry peered over his shoulder into the gloom; somehow the smudges of dust and rolled-up sleeves made Draco seem more approachable, until Harry had found himself almost forgetting they were still the same boys who’d been at school together.

“Can’t see a thing.” 

Draco sighed. “Then open the shutters,” he said dryly. Harry straightened and moved past him, crossing the floorboards to test the shutters with a careful wand tip.

“Warded,” he said, and stepped back as Draco came to stand next to him. “Same passwords as the house, do you think?”

“Worth a try.”

They raised their wands and spoke the Latin phrases the solicitor’s office had sent them again; Draco nodded in satisfaction as the silvery chains vanished, leaving plain wood. 

Harry pulled at the latches, but they didn’t budge. He raised his wand again, trying several opening spells. Auror training had taught him several more than the ones he knew from school; one, a tangle of Latin that he knew should open most doors short of a Gringotts vault, made the shutters shiver, but they didn’t open.

“No, look,” Draco said, coming over; he covered Harry’s hand with his own, slowing his wand’s flick, slurring the spell into something easier and less formal, less like something he’d learned in a classroom. The shutters creaked open, revealing a fine lattice of cobwebs and a couple of doxy nests that crumbled away into nothing. Draco nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now we can see what all this mess is.”

“Why’re we going through all this,” Harry asked, helping him to move the ledgers off their shelves and onto the large desk. “Do you want the place? Because you can have it.”

“Not particularly.” Draco flipped open the top of a dusty cardboard box, a  _ lumos _ making up for the pale light that barely filtered through the grimy windows. Harry flicked his wand again and spelled two more sets open; he felt the phantom warmth of Draco’s hand over his as he copied Draco’s pronunciation, remembering how he’d shaped the spell in his mouth. “It’s more for my own curiosity.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t think Draco meant curiosity about the house, but it was difficult to imagine it being about himself either; the newspapers still did a good line in tracking his every move, if Draco was that bothered, despite the fact that Harry basically shut himself away either at the Ministry or in Grimmauld Place. 

“What did you want it to be,” Draco asked, charming another box lid clean of dust before flipping it open. He seemed to be carefully not looking at Harry.

“Another chance,” Harry said, then snapped his mouth shut. He’d spoken without thinking, and it was true, but now it’d been said he didn’t really know what kind of chance he wanted, and was glad when Draco didn’t ask. They continued sorting through the old boxes for a while, until suddenly Draco spoke again.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so-” Draco hesitated. “So unlike how I remembered you. It’s been just over a year; I thought we’d turn up, hate each other from opposite ends of this pile for a week, then both send a letter to the solicitors agreeing to sell.”

“I didn’t exactly turn up with flowers and chocolates,” Harry said dryly. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’m not, trust me.” Draco turned back to the room. “I’ll move these out into somewhere with more light; there might be something useful in them. But I think we’re done here, unless you want to take a closer look at anything.” 

“Not really.” They closed the room up again, and went their separate ways. Harry grabbed his broom and went outside, kicking off and spiralling up into the sky until the hills and forest stretched out below him like a blanket.

He didn’t look for Draco as he left. 

^^

They ate in silence that evening, a casserole Harry assumed Draco had ordered the kitchen to make for him and slices of rich fruitcake, coffee in the now much more alert set of cups. It wasn’t awkward, exactly; Harry kept glancing up and feeling like Draco had looked away only a split second before, but they didn’t talk. 

Once, in the night, Harry woke from a disjointed dream that faded as he shoved himself upright, leaving only the sense of cool hands and muscle shifting under pale skin. In the morning, staring into the mirror of his chilly bathroom, he convinced himself that the faint footsteps had been in the dream too. 

^^

There was one room left they hadn’t searched, on the ground floor; the worn door was locked when they tried it, so they’d moved on. 

Harry came downstairs to find Draco fitting a series of keys from a huge set on an ancient ring into the lock in turn, hands grimy with rust and gritty old oil. He stared for a moment, then went to the kitchen and made himself some toast and tea; when he came back, Draco was still going, a small heap of discarded keys on the flagstone by his feet.

“What happened to  _ alohomora _ ,” he asked, and Draco flicked a withering look at him. 

“It’s spelled against the four main unlocking charms,” he said. “What am I, a child? Obviously I tried those first, and half a dozen others.” Harry watched for a moment, caught again by the novelty of watching Malfoy, of all people, do something so mundane. Then he stepped forward.

“Here, let me try.” He took the ring from Draco and lifted an eyebrow. “Where did you find these?” 

“In a drawer in the study.” Draco gestured over his shoulder, to the dining room behind. Through the half open door Harry saw the table was covered in cardboard boxes. “I moved that lot over, and poked around a bit afterwards.”

“Did you leave space to eat?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “We can eat in the kitchen. The sooner we find something that settles this place, we can forget about it.” 

“Right.” Something heavy lodged in Harry’s chest; he’d let himself think, or even hope, that this was the start of a real truce for them. Ron had stared, baffled, when Harry’d mentioned the possibility, but he couldn't help it; school was behind them, and he was on speaking terms with a lot of the other Slytherins now, so why not Draco. 

Except of course not Draco. 

Harry knelt down in front of the door and tested the handle, noting the way it would barely do half a turn, and the rust that coated both it and the lock. He pulled his wand from his jeans and rested the tip inside the lock, murmuring a lubrication charm; repeating it on the handle for good measure, he sat back on his heels and waited for the oil to sink in.

“Where did you learn that?” Draco asked, eyebrows raised. “I don’t recall house repairs being on the school curriculum.”

“Grimmauld Place,” Harry said, turning the door handle to see if it moved any freer. “Sirius apparently made a habit of leaving me ancient houses with masses of bloody problems.”

When Harry looked up from the lock there was a peculiar expression on Draco’s face; he opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Instead he handed over the next key, fingers brushing Harry’s as he did so.

Harry glanced up from their hands, startled, but Draco’s expression was cool. 

The key didn’t turn, and neither did the next five, but eventually one slid in and gave way at once, the lock unfastening with a screech; it took both of them together to shove the door open across the old flagstones, until there was a wide enough gap to let them slip inside. 

“Door’s warped,” Harry said, nudging it with his trainer before looking around. “Reminds me of the potions classroom.” The shutters were all tightly bolted, and when he lifted a hand to one of them a tingling across his fingertips told him the wards were still active. The windows ran in an L shape around two edges of the large room, all shuttered and warded. 

Bunches of desiccated herbs hung from the ceiling, a fine grit on the table and floor underneath them. Harry’s trainers crunched through it as he ran a hand over the scarred tabletop, his hand coming away grimy with dust and faintly scented with lavender. 

“Truly charming,” Draco said, yanking open a cabinet. Gardening tools lay neatly on the shelves.

“You’re more than welcome to have it,” Harry said, peering at the faded labels on a series of glass bottles. “I’ve got one Black house, and that’s enough of a pain in the arse.” Behind him the cabinet door slammed shut.

“I’ve had enough dust for a day,” Draco said abruptly, angrily, turning on one heel. He was gone before Harry could say anything, leaving him in the silent room, surrounded by relics.

He didn’t reappear at all that afternoon, or when it was time to eat; Harry ate alone, sitting on the kitchen table and coaxing the saucepans to cook for him, watching the knives chop a salad and wondering if he’d hear Draco’s footsteps. When he didn’t, Harry finished his solitary meal and covered the plates with a charm, then went outside to explore the garden.

^^

There was more to the garden than it seemed, despite Harry having flown over it the day before. A folding spell, maybe; he stepped from a lush pocket of ferns into a garden filled with old rose bushes, and wondered who had created it, wondered if the’y’d find the answer in the house. 

He stood for a long while in a small cottage garden, thoughts drifting. 

Eventually noise on the path behind made Harry turn; Draco, coming slowly across the garden, a small tray floating at his side with two glasses resting on it. He drew alongside Harry and stopped, the tray drifting over to hover between the two of them. Draco’s idea of an apology, maybe, or a peace offering; when Harry took one, the glass filled up with firewhiskey.

“Why did you think Sirius had left you this place?” Draco asked abruptly, breaking the silence. “Surely his will has been read.”

“Not yet,” Harry said, with a shrug. It’d mostly stopped bothering him now. “Everything’s wrapped up in legal stuff, I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully, swinging his glass gently to make the firewhiskey spark. “But you’ve been living in that mausoleum for months, surely not  _ illegally _ .”

Harry huffed out a laugh at Draco’s dry tone. “Not exactly. I don’t really have anywhere else to go, so I guess they just- let me.”

“Merlin forbid anyone deny the Boy Who Lived.” There was no sneer on Draco’s face when Harry looked over, just a faintly mocking smile. “What’s the delay? Surely they should be falling over themselves to give you anything you want.”

Harry shrugged again, taking a sip of his own drink, familiar anger pooling in his stomach as the heat slid down his throat. “They can’t decide if he died a war hero, or a war criminal.” 

The lazy swing of Draco’s glass came to a halt as he stilled. Draco’s own arrest and hearing had been short, Harry knew; the Malfoys had lost more in social standing than anything else, although it would be a long time before Lucius set foot in England again. He’d argued for Draco himself, and Narcissa, knowing where his debts lay, but now he wished there was someone else to do the same for Sirius.

“I see.” Draco took another sip, his tone slightly shaken when he added, “although that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Who else is there to have left me anything?”

The glass clinked sharply when Draco put it back down on the tray, all stillness gone. “Has no one ever told you  _ anything _ ,” he demanded, to Harry’s shock. “I’m aware a large portion of the Order’s tactics was to keep you as ignorant as possible, but surely this goes too far.” 

“Hey,” Harry started, stung, but Draco cut him off.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, the tray and his drink vanishing with a  _ pop. _ “We’ve got work to do.” He stalked off, leaving Harry stood in the dark garden, confused and still holding his glass.

^^

In the morning Harry woke from a fitful sleep to see Draco flinging back his curtains, and a cup of tea hovering three inches from his nose. Outside the sun was barely showing above the trees; it was early, the light cool on Draco’s face. 

“Get up,” Draco said, “and meet me in the study.”

“Er,” Harry said, but it was too late; Draco had gone, shutting the door behind him. The door to his little bathroom flung itself open instead, shower on and steaming, a towel ready; the tiles were still chilly when his bare feet hit them, though.

Breakfast was in the kitchen again, omelettes and a steaming teapot, Draco looking pale and tired, prickly when Harry tried to make conversation. His knife and fork clattered too loudly when he laid them down after his last bite.

“Right,” Draco said abruptly, pushing the sleeves of his grey jumper up slightly. Harry pulled his eyes away from the pale wrists the movement revealed, and took a swallow of scalding tea. “What do you know about your family?”

“Er,” Harry said, for the second time that morning. “My mum was muggleborn, and my dad was pureblooded. He was related to the Blacks, somehow, and the Peverells.” The Mirror of Erised rose up in his memory, all the people he couldn’t put names to; it had seemed more important, at the time, that they’d existed at all, that he had more family than just the Dursleys. 

“That’s all?” Draco raised his brows. “You’ve never learnt anything else?”

“I’ve never seen the point,” Harry said, and winced when Draco’s expression went stormy. 

“Your father was a  _ pureblood _ .” Draco wielded the words like a weapon, “and there might not be many of us now, but there used to be. We had big families; most of the old houses have shrunk, these days. Even that wretched one you own was three times the size before the family started dying out. I know you’re prejudiced against us, but surely it can’t be impossible that  _ family _ is important.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Harry snapped, “I’ve never had one.”

“So it doesn’t matter at all?” Draco sneered back, and Harry opened his mouth to start shouting, but this wasn’t Hogwarts; they weren’t scared boys getting dragged under the flood of a war any more. He settled for glaring instead. 

“It’s not- it’s not that it didn’t matter.” Draco snorted, disbelieving. “It’s  _ not _ \- look, before I went to Hogwarts I never knew that I had another family, a magical one. And no one’s ever really talked to me about them; I have one book of photographs, my mum’s eyes, my dad’s hair, and that’s  _ it _ .” Harry took a deep breath. “So all this stuff, about family trees and whatever, it’s never felt like it had anything to do with me.” 

“I see.”

When Draco abruptly stood and stalked out Harry groaned; they had couldn’t leave yet, and now it looked like they’d be hating each other from opposite ends of the house after all. Draco’s footsteps only went as far as the end of the hall, though, and Harry heard the screech of the library door. 

“Here,” Draco said, coming back into the room and holding out a thick book. “It’s a beginner’s history of wizardkind. And I mean beginner’s; it’s the sort of thing your Granger would read in ten minutes and rip to shreds, but it’ll do for now.” Harry stared at it, too surprised to move. “What?”

“Never heard you talk about her like that,” Harry said, giving himself a mental shake and taking the book. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for growing up.”

^^

Whatever conversation Draco had wanted to have seemed to have been derailed; he sat down behind the stack of boxes on the dining room table and started to read, fixing Harry with a raised eyebrow and slight sneer when he offered to help. 

“Do you know who any of these people are,” he asked, nudging an old photograph Harry’s way. It showed a group of people in formal evening wear, names written across the bottom edge in cramped handwriting.

“No,” Harry said, watching them pose. 

“Then you’re useless.” Draco flicked his fingers in dismissal. “If, or hopefully when, I find something, I’ll let you know.”

“Ta very much,” Harry snapped bad temperedly, and stalked out. 

^^

Midday came and went; Harry went quietly down to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich, getting halfway back upstairs before he gave in and checked on Draco. A crumb-covered plate sat next to his elbow, and he cradled a teacup in his hands, papers drifting above the table, rotating when he gestured. 

Harry fled upstairs again, forcing himself to finish off the work he’d brought with him. The history book Draco had given him turned out to be surprisingly interesting; Harry had reached page thirty-four before a small paper crane came flapping into his room. 

_ Found something _ , it said when he opened it up, in a less spiky version of the handwriting he recognised from a variety of notes flicked onto his desk at school. This time it didn’t come with a little inked drawing of himself being struck by lightning, so he swung his feet to the floor and headed back downstairs.

Draco was where he’d left him, albeit looking considerably dustier; the cardboard boxes were now on the floor, and little heaps of papers lay arranged neatly on the table. 

“So,” Harry said, still irritated as he pulled out a second chair. 

Draco glanced at him, expression unreadable, then silently reached for a large scroll and flicked his wand; it unrolled and hung in the air between them, covered in names and finely inked portraits. A little packet of photographs fluttered out and spread themselves over the table, their inhabitants yawning and stretching.

“Right,” Draco said, leaning in. “I just want to make sure, but--” He scrutinised the scroll, Harry doing the same; he picked out several names he recognised, and looked over at Draco to check another, but the question died on his lips. Draco was frowning, tracing a line downwards with fierce concentration. 

“What?”

“You wouldn’t know, probably,” Draco said slowly, fingertips brushing over the scroll, “but about twenty years ago there was a minor scandal. Remember I said pureblood families were dying out? Hortencia Selwyn was pretty much the last of a very old family, and a very wealthy one too. She’s here.” He pointed to a drawing of a strong boned woman, with a mass of hair piled on top of her head. 

“I know the name, Harry, said, thinking of Umbridge with loathing. “So?”

“The Selwyn’s were a sprawling family, at one time; from what Mother said it was a mess trying to work out who should’ve got what every time someone died. Rather like this place, actually.”

“So she died without a will?”

“Yes.” Draco went quiet, reaching out to the scroll again. Harry watched his fingers, but couldn’t see the connections Draco had obviously noticed. “Her fortune and property should’ve gone to her next living relative, the legal heir, but no one was sure who that was, and a lot of the papers had gone missing.”

“Didn’t they look?”

“Obviously.” Draco sniffed, glancing round. “Clearly no one thought to look here though. Hardly surprising, given that we’ve both been left this place by two different people, from two separate families, who both thought they owned it.”

“Any connection to the Selwyns?” Harry asked. Draco shrugged. 

“Probably, if we check.” He propped his chin on one hand, eyes intent on the scroll still floating between them. 

Eventually Harry broke the silence. “What happened to it all?”

“The money is secure in Gringotts; the property closed up and warded by the Ministry. They can’t touch it yet; wizarding law is quite strict. Until they can prove there is no living heir, it’s all sat untouched.”

A photograph floated up from the table to hover next to the scroll. It showed two people, who looked faintly familiar to Harry, and a small baby.

“And?” Harry prompted, when Draco fell silent again, staring at the photograph. 

“Looking at this, and several other pieces of paper I’ve just read, that heir is you. Or would’ve been your father; I doubt she knew you existed, seeing how well you were hidden away from the wizarding world. The photograph is labelled  _ Potter _ on the back, at any rate.” For a moment the words hung in the air, heavy. 

Harry stood abruptly, the chair screeching back across the flagstones. “I think I need some air.” Draco didn’t say anything as he grabbed his coat and broom from the hall, heading out of the front door and taking off as soon as he was outside. 

He flew over the forest, then along a river until it rose up into a rocky waterfall, and there he landed, leaning the broom carefully against a tree. For a while Harry stood looking at the water, not thinking about anything much; when the cold started to seep through his coat he cast a warming charm and transfigured a swathe of moss into a rug to sit on. 

Draco found him a couple hours later, approaching through the trees dressed more like a muggle than Harry had ever seen him. The gloves and walking boots were probably dragonhide, though, and elegant as it was the jacket had to have warming charms woven into it, to be suitable for the chilly weather. He sat down next to Harry, and held out his Gryffindor scarf.

“Locator charm,” was all Draco said. 

Harry wrapped the scarf around his neck and tucked it into his coat, glad for the extra warmth. “Sorry for legging it,” he said, when he couldn’t fuss with it any more.

Draco shrugged. “It’s a lot to take in, I suppose.”

“More than that.” Harry stared out at the waterfall, grateful for the new ease between them, strange as it was. He felt Draco waiting beside him, and tried to pull his thoughts together. After a while he shifted so he could see Draco, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, and clasping his hands loosely.

“As much as you were brought up to hate muggles and muggleborns,” Harry said carefully, “I think I’ve been taught to hate purebloods.”

“Despite being friends with the Weasleys,” Draco asked; his tone was casual, but Harry heard what was behind it.

“Alright, certain purebloods. When I was away from school, seventh year, do you know what I was doing?” 

“Only what I’ve read in the newspapers. Hunting horcruxes.”

Harry nodded. “One of them was a locket. I’ll tell you the rest, if you want, but when we went looking for it, it was owned by Umbridge.” Draco flinched, but waved a hand for Harry to carry on when he paused. “She claimed it was an heirloom from a pureblood family she was related to.”

“The Selwyns,” Draco said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. And that’s all I know about them. Well, and one of them was a Death Eater. But I shouldn’t assume they were all awful, just because of that.” Harry knew he sounded bitter, but he didn’t care; Draco was right, he’d been kept ignorant for so long that it had stopped occurring to him to ask questions. 

Draco shifted, wand sliding into his hand. He twisted it, almost lazily, and a curl of water slid away from the waterfall to hang in front of them. Harry watched as it flowed into shapes; first the Lodge, then Malfoy Manor and a series of places Harry didn’t know, until finally it became Hogwarts and stilled. Eventually Draco cleared his throat, the water falling back into the river with a soft splash. 

“I think we should start again.”

Harry blinked. “Did we ever start at all?” 

Draco snorted. “No, not really.” 

When he looked back over, Draco was holding out a hand, one eyebrow raised. Harry held out his own, a smile starting to grow, and they shook.

“Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you.”

“Harry Potter, likewise.” 

Their laughter echoed off the rocks around them, Harry feeling like a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying had been lifted off his shoulders. When he caught his breath he glanced at Draco, grinning. 

“What?”

“Don’t think I’ve heard you laugh properly before.”

“I think I mostly sniggered at school,” Draco said, wry smile on his lips. “Merlin’s beard I was awful.”

“In all fairness, we both were,” Harry pointed out. “More than, sometimes.”

Draco tilted his head back and smiled again, as fat flakes of snow began to fall. “I’m not going to argue with that,” he said, smile widening when Harry nudged him with an elbow. “That looks bad.”

Harry looked up to the sky, and raised his eyebrows. Thick, dark clouds had billowed up while they sat talking, and he shivered; the temperature had dropped too, to the point where his warming charm couldn’t manage. “Want a lift back?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, of course not, I’d love to spend another two hours walking around the forest.”

“Just asking,” Harry said, hiding a grin as he stood, holding a hand down for Draco.

Harry paused before swinging his leg over the broom, looking at Draco, and the thought popped into his head- what if school had been normal, if they’d had no baggage and been friendly rivals instead of bitter enemies. If they’d just bumped into each other in the street, and gone for a drink to catch up, fallen into bed together afterwards. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, and readied himself. “Let’s get back before this weather gets any worse.” 

“Fine by me.” Draco slid on behind him and wrapped his hands tightly around Harry’s waist without prompting. “Makes a change from last time,” he said, raising his voice as Harry kicked off.

“What?”

“Being on a broom with you,” Draco shouted, “And not fearing for my life.” 

“Could be arranged,” Harry shouted back over his shoulder, dipping the broom into a sharp dive. He heard Draco’s faint laughter, felt the arms around his waist tighten, and grinned; he should’ve known that wouldn’t frighten Draco. 

^^

It was twilight when they got back, the house cold instead of merely chilly. Draco peered at the ancient boiler. “I think a good fire might be safer.” 

“How about a bonfire,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow when Draco gave him a withering look. “Might improve the place a bit.” 

“As it’s technically yours,” he started, then hesitated. Harry wasn’t sure what expression his face had shifted into, but it made Draco place a hand on his arm. “It can be sold, and quickly.”

“Who’ll want this place?”

“Oh,” Draco said lightly, “you’d be surprised.”

They set a fire going in the sitting room instead, drawing the curtains against the rapidly falling darkness. Harry loaded a tray with things for dinner, and felt irrationally excited when it lumbered into the air to follow him at hip level; Draco glanced up from where he knelt in front of the hearth when Harry entered, the tray floating ahead, and smiled smugly. 

“Forgive me for being pleased to have taught you something worthwhile,” he said acidly when Harry rolled his eyes, but he still shifted to help unload the food. It felt like a Hogwarts picnic, filched from the kitchen and eaten after hours; cold meat and cheeses, fresh bread, pickles, crumpets that they toasted against the fire with varying degrees of success.

Harry opened his mouth at one point to ask if Draco had ever done the same, but closed it again around a bite of cheese before he could. 

“I suppose that’s it,” Draco said, when they’d finished the last of the teacakes. The teapot had been banished back to the kitchen, making way for tumblers of firewhiskey again. He lay sprawled out on the sofa, Harry sat on the floor by his knees, watching the embers of the fire. 

“Home tomorrow.” Harry knew he didn’t sound enthusiastic; the Lodge wasn’t his idea of a home, but neither was Grimmauld Place, and at least here he had company. Even if it was Draco Malfoy of all people. 

“Did we check the bedrooms?”

Harry thought. “I did, briefly. First day we were here.” Draco’s silence was weighted. “We’d better have one last look,” Harry said, because that seemed to be the right thing to say. Draco hummed thoughtfully, then stood in one swift movement, reaching a hand down to Harry. “Come on. The sooner we look, the sooner we can lay this place to rest for good.” 

“Sounds like you can’t wait to leave.” 

“Can’t you?”

Harry followed him up the stairs, flicked his wand to light the wall sconces, and didn’t answer.

^^

“Useless,” Harry said some time later, sliding closed the bedside drawer in the last bedroom. “Not a single thing.”

“Nothing in the attics either,” Draco said irritably, sitting on a sternly upright chair in the last bedroom. They’d had decent hopes for the rooms at the top of the rickety staircase, but all they’d found was some even more shabby furniture and a lot of abandoned doxy nests. Now it was late, very late, and they were at the end of their week.

The bedrooms had all been the same, differing only in size and the ugliness of the wallpaper. None had anything remotely resembling a legal document confirming who owned the house; in fact there were no personal effects at all, just a series of empty wardrobes, bare floorboards under the beds, and dusty drawers.

“There’s one room we haven’t checked properly,” Draco said, after a moment’s thought. When he stood, Harry followed.

^^

The long room at the back of the house had changed little since they’d left it; some of the bundles of herbs had disintegrated a little more, and several of the bottles in the cupboard had shifted colour now they’d been exposed to the light, but it still retained its air of decayed neglect. In the pitch black of two in the morning it looked even more dismal.

Draco left Harry stood in the doorway and strode down the hall, coming back with two of the large dining room candelabras. “Better do a  _ lumos _ each as well,” he said, touching his wand tip to the candle wicks. “You take that side, I’ll do this one.”

Harry nodded, setting his wand on the table to light his side of the room, and pulled open a cupboard at random; he heard Draco do the same, both of them searching through the various bits of furniture for anything useful. Harry was wincing over his third splinter when Draco dragged a drawer open, swore when it fell to the floor, then pounced on a large sheaf of old documents. 

They felt oily under Harry’s fingers as they moved them to the table; charms, he guessed, set into the paper and left to go stagnant for decades. Draco plucked one particular document out of the pile, wide and folded many times, held together with a dirty ribbon and a charm he dismantled with a curl of his lip. 

“It’s a will,” Draco said, tapping it with his wand. It unfolded to cover most of the table, the paper dry and brittle. “Written by- hang on.” He jabbed his wand at the crabbed signature and a copy raised itself into the air; Harry watched, fascinated. Draco pursed his lips and jabbed again, until the writing stretched out and straightened up. 

“Favian Selwyn,” Harry read aloud. 

“A second cousin to Hortencia, I think.” Draco said, after a moment’s thought. “There were a lot of them in the generation below his; I’d assume this will went missing, and that’s where the confusion happened. Not that I’m an expert; they were never really part of our social circle.”

The signature shrivelled up again and sank back onto the dusty paper. 

“So it’s a Selwyn house,” Harry said, staring down. He could make out the odd word, here and there; wizarding script, the old kind, wasn’t something he’d ever made the effort to learn. Hermione had always done it for the three of them, back at school, and the Ministry had special archivists for that kind of paperwork. 

“It seems so.” Draco leant over, one finger running underneath the words as he read them under his breath. He glanced up when Harry pulled a second packet of papers out, all bound up with more tattered ribbon and held fast by a crumbling wax seal. “And those will be the deeds, if we’ve any luck left. Micawber will be pleased to have it settled.”

“Who?”

“Micawber Protherselm,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. “The solicitor who sent us up here?”

“I never spoke to him in person,” Harry said, shrugging. “Everything was done through a clerk.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” When Harry tilted his head Draco lifted a shoulder, smiling slightly. “They mostly handle pureblood estates; you’re likely responsible for halving their client list.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over it,” Harry said, dryly. 

^^

The sun was well risen when they finally left, autumn air crisp and clear. Draco looked tired from their late night; Harry wasn’t much better. They were both quiet at breakfast, their trunk and rucksack repacked and sat waiting in the main hall.

They locked up together, the locks clunking into place and the wards threading their way back around the house, closing firmly over the keyholes. Harry shoved his key into his rucksack and closed it, tightening the straps before slinging it over one shoulder.

“How did you get here,” Harry asked suddenly, realising he’d never asked. Draco slipped his key back into a robe pocket and nodded towards the stone sign at the end of the driveway. 

“Portkey. It was spelled to reset in a week; it’ll take me back to the Manor today.” He eyed Harry’s broom. “Did you fly from London?”

Harry shook his head. “Two Floo changes, then I flew. Only about an hour.” 

“How will you get back?”

“I’ll go direct. Feel like I need it, blow away some of the dust.” Harry rummaged in his pockets until he found the little beacon he’d used to find the house, still dim. “I think I can use this.”

The locator charm was simple enough to alter, once he opened it up; Draco leant over his shoulder, helping him poke at the spell until it pointed towards London instead. It snapped shut again and Draco stepped back; Harry missed him instantly. 

“Right,” he said, settling his rucksack and clearing his throat. “See you at the solicitor’s, I suppose.”

“It shouldn’t take long to sort out.” They walked together to the end of the drive, and Draco held out a hand, suddenly reverting back to being awkwardly formal. “I’ll see you around.”

“Likewise,” Harry said, and they shook, the stilted conversation over. Draco held his trunk in one hand and reached out with the other, vanishing with a faint  _ pop _ the instant he touched the stone sign. 

For a few moments Harry stood, listening. Far off he heard the cry of a bird, and the rushing of the waterfall; nearer to the house the trees rustled, and behind him he felt the faint shiver of the magic in the wards they had raised again. 

He’d lost something, he was sure of it, but he had no clear idea what. He settled his rucksack onto his back and swung his leg over the broom, clipping the beacon onto its handle again, and kicked off. Circling above the house, Harry looked down, rising higher until the house was a toy and he could see the river, the waterfall where they’d sat and talked. 

Eventually he turned the broom south, and followed the green marker back to London.

^^

The Lodge hadn’t been a palace, but by contrast it made Grimmauld Place look like a hovel, and it was  _ lonely _ , right down to its bones. 

It was tempting to return to the Ministry, and spend the night on the overstuffed sofa in his office; it had once been another desk, but at some point Ron had transfigured it, and now it was often more inviting than the narrow, hard bed upstairs. Instead Harry tipped another log onto the fire and settled down to the backlog of paperwork that had built up while he was away.

He was wading through more Dementor sightings, marking them onto a large map, when the sound of someone knocking at the door echoed down the hall. Harry froze, waiting for the clatter of curtains and the screams, but when he looked, Mrs Black slept on. 

Padding down the corridor in his socks, Harry shivered. No matter how big a fire he built, the house remained dreary and depressing, the warmth going little further than where he’d set up a desk. He swung the heavy front door open, wishing he’d shoved his trainers on when the cold air hit him.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Draco said from the top step, and Harry blinked at him. “Or rather I’m rescuing you, Merlin’s balls, look at this place. No wonder you’re half-starved and pathetic. Come on.” 

He reached out, and before Harry could say anything he was yanked in a side-along apparition, tumbling out into a warm, cosy room with long windows and a large, comfortable-looking bed. Draco stepped away to shrug out of his outer robes, tossing them carelessly to one side, then strode back towards him.

“I’m not hungry,” was the first thing Harry could make himself say, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Yes you are,” and then Harry was getting kissed, deeply and thoroughly, Draco’s hands in his hair and around his waist. There wasn’t much he could do apart from go with it, except then the hand in his hair tightened and suddenly he  _ was _ starving.

The loneliness of Grimmauld Place, of having an office in the Ministry filled with paperwork and little else; it all faded away under the clutch of Draco’s hand on his hip and Harry’s own arms wrapped around Draco’s neck. Things went a bit blurry after that, because he hadn’t really, not like this, not- not like it  _ mattered _ , when everything he did seemed to make Draco groan and kiss him again. 

Draco stripped them both bare and pressed Harry back against the wall, hissing sharply when he pulled one of Harry’s legs up and his cold foot dug into Draco’s back; “bed,” he gasped on a laugh, and they tumbled in, sheets warm around them.

^^

The room turned out to be part of a small flat Draco had in London; “not everyone can have a huge, sprawling townhouse,” he said, with a sidelong look at Harry. Harry snorted. 

“Not everyone wants one.” 

“I’m surprised you’re still living there,” Draco said, but his tone was uneven; it wasn’t what he wanted to say, Harry thought, turning onto his side to see him properly. Draco lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, pale skin still unmarked; Harry hadn’t got as far as that, derailed by Draco’s clever hands and deep kisses. 

“I didn’t think-” Harry started, biting the rest of the sentence off. He hadn’t thought about it at all, really, beyond a vague hope and the sense of a missed opportunity when he’d arrived back at Grimmauld Place and realised there’d be no Draco to chat with over dinner. 

“Neither did I,” Draco said, tilting his head over to look at Harry. “It was an impulse; at worst I imagined you’d punch or hex me, and we’d be back on familiar ground again.”

“It didn’t occur to me,” Harry said honestly. He quirked a smile. “Maybe for the first time ever."

Draco smiled, and Harry pushed himself up, leaned over far enough to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. When he sank back down again, Draco looked thoughtful.

“What are you going to do with the money?” 

“I don’t know yet.” There was an idea, in the back of his mind, but it needed to come together; perhaps by the time the solicitors had untangled the legal paperwork for the Black and the Selwyn estates, he might have a plan. “I don’t even know what to do with my own money, let alone another fortune.”

Draco hummed. “Not something I imagine gets said very often.”

“I grew up- I didn’t have anything, not really, until I went to Hogwarts. And then I had bigger things to worry about.” 

They were quiet for a while, faint sounds from the street outside trickling in and softening the silence. Eventually Draco spoke, quietly. “If you want- I can help. Or be there, at least.”

“Do you think your kind of people will accept that,” he asked, startled by the offer he realised Draco was making, and abruptly closed his eyes, expecting to be kicked out of the bed.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t mean that as offensively as it sounded,” Draco said, tone cool. 

“Old habits,” Harry said, cracking one eye open to look at him. “Sorry.”

Draco sat up, twisting to look down on Harry, the sheets pooling around his waist. “If by that you actually meant, would they accept me being seen with you, and being known to be with you? Then yes, I think many of them would. If only to seem supportive of the new Ministry so they can keep living as they wish to.”

“You really want to try.” It wasn’t a question; Harry sat up, abruptly needing to be on eye level with him. Draco’s cheeks went faintly pink. 

“I think,” Draco said, clearly choosing his words carefully, “that offering to start again means more than just shaking hands and acting on a schoolboy fantasy. As long as you’re willing to do the same, then- yes, I mean it.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I can do that. I want- I want things to change. We spent a week in a house together and didn’t even manage to have an argument, let alone try to kill each other. I can keep doing that.”

Draco huffed out a laugh, then tilted his head, questioning. “What else would you change right now?” 

“To get rid of Grimmauld Place,” Harry said instantly. He ignored the voice that said he was presuming too much, the part of him that was suddenly afraid Draco would assume he wanted to stay there, in the cosy flat filled with clearly expensive things.  

“Alright,” was all Draco said, smiling slightly, “we’ll start with that. We can see the solicitor’s in the morning; I’m sure Micawber won’t throw you out. There’s a reward for the settling of the Selwyn estates, I think.”

“Can’t I just- say thanks but no thanks?” 

“You really are pathetically clueless about wizarding law, aren’t you,” Draco said tartly, and didn't elaborate. “Besides,” he added, “you know I sent all the paperwork on to Micawber before we left.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, remembering. “I could give it away, right? The Ministry gets loads of charities asking for help.”

Draco stared at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes, a faint smirk on his lips. Before Harry could ask what was funny he lifted a hand, a pad of paper and a pencil floating over from a small desk in one corner. “Right,” Draco said, settling the pad onto his knee. “Uses for the Selwyn money, numbers one to ten, homework due in half an hour so we can shag again.”

Harry grinned, sank back into the pillows, and started thinking. 

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently this fandom isn't done with me. I had every intention of fading back into the shadows, but this wouldn't let go; I've poked at it until it's as good as it's going to get, so here. A farewell to 2016. 
> 
> Unbetaed; any and all mistakes my own (sorry).


End file.
